


Captive Audience

by neevebrody



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-12
Updated: 2010-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-07 05:05:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neevebrody/pseuds/neevebrody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy sat straight and stretched, moaning through the movement. "What? No breakfast?" he asked in that sleepy, low voice that made even his grunts sound like a molasses-in-the-mouth drawl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captive Audience

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Billy always could bring him off without touching him.  
> Kink: Voice Fetishization

The night was muggy and, so far, uneventful. Their fourth straight without a peep from Avery Merchant, a suspect-turned-federal-witness who'd decided to take his chances and skip protection, but not before leaving his guard for dead.

The warehouse they were staking out was a process station for the entire Cisneros operation: phony documents, passports, dirty money. Only the Bureau had never had enough on the group to get in for a proper search. Oh, they'd been lucky enough to have a couple of walk-throughs, but those had netted them nothing of consequence. Merchant had been their ticket inside; he'd come up through the ranks and knew the operation inside out. Cisneros' dealings were big: drugs, guns, political influence, and Don figured Cisneros himself would reward Merchant for his escape by either killing him or making sure he got as far away. If the latter, Merchant would have to show up here first.

He checked the building once more. Same crew as the previous nights. No new vehicles, same limited visibility through the grimy, half-covered windows. As he lowered his binoculars, a soft snore sounded at his shoulder. He glanced sideways at the head of short-cropped, rusty hair lolled back against his seat. Eyes that, had they been open would suck you into their piercing blue, moved back and forth under the lids. There had been a time when those eyes had seen through Don amazingly well and had cut through all his excuses. He stopped himself right there; he wasn't even going to think about those sun-kissed cheeks or the freckles, one on Billy's lower lip that always drew his eye, or the others scattered across those broad shoulders.

With a half-grin, he tossed his shoulder to nudge the man next to him. "Wake up, Coop. We've got a job to do here."

Agent Billy Cooper, Fugitive Recovery, had been on his way to Phoenix after hooking up with Don again on the McDowd case. The call on Merchant had come as Billy was packing his car. Don really hadn't had to ask, just a cock of his head, an arched brow and Coop had taken his bags out of the car with a look of _what the hell, let's do it_.

Billy sat straight and stretched, moaning through the movement. "What? No breakfast?" he asked in that sleepy, low voice that made even his grunts sound like a molasses-in-the-mouth drawl. And did Don ever miss that voice. As Coop's former partner, it was the one thing he knew as well as his own. He'd learned to tell when a joke was a joke, or when urgent meant _right the fuck now_ just by the inflection and the tone. Coop's voice was a many-sided marvel: lyrical, tremulous, mesmerizing, forceful, sexy. And on the rare occasion when it showed all of them at once, it seemed alive, an entity separate from Billy himself.

Don still heard it sometimes – even amid all the chaos in LA. The raw command had gotten him through more than a few tense moments, just as the soothing cadence had helped ease a few lonely nights.

Billy clapped a hand over Don's shoulder and left it there. It was warm and… _there_. Nodding to the floor, Don answered, "Coffee's in the thermos," and handed Billy the binoculars. "We got nothing so far."

Billy lifted the glasses with one hand, keeping the other where it was. "You reckon we missed him earlier?"

"Nah, I got a feeling about this one. Makes sense for them to keep Merchant under wraps for a few days. They gotta know we're out in full force looking for him. After some of the heat's off, they have a better chance of slipping him out undetected."

"Yeah," Billy said, handing back the glasses. "If he's still breathing." Their eyes met. He massaged Don's shoulder a couple of times before patting it and letting go. "Just a thought, Donnie boy. You gotta know that's a possibility."

He did. "Well, I'm not ready to give up yet," Don said, tugging at his tie to loosen it. "Jesus, it's hot as fuck."

Beside him, Billy huffed a laugh, sitting there in jeans and a faded tee shirt under his FBI vest. "You sleep in those suits, too?" he asked, eyes dancing with blue sparkles.

They'd been all through the GQ thing, several times, and Don refused to be baited. "I told you, Coop, things are different here."

"Sure as hell are." Billy shifted, his left shoulder crowding the back of the seat, facing Don's profile. Perspiration broke free and slid down behind Don's collar, making him flush hot, or was it something that had nothing to do with the humidity? Billy inched closer and leaned in. He took a deep breath. "Goddamn," he drawled, "you always did smell so damn good."

Don raised defensive hands. "Coop…" He was lucky to get that much out.

"Bet I know one thing that hasn't changed…bet I can still make you pop without a hand on you. Whad'ya say, a little wager between friends?"

Don inhaled sharply. Jesus. The normal timbre of Coop's voice fell somewhere between velvet and granite, and any one of the incarnations along the way could set him on fire, but this... "Billy, listen—"

"Shhhh…you said it yourself, same ole shit, nothing's happening… we're in radio contact, got our eyes right there on the only ingress point. Relax… remember the graveyard stakeouts?"

Something in the way those last few words hung in the air sent a shudder through him that Don couldn't stop. Heat stung every pore and thinking of just one of those nights added weight to his rapidly hardening cock, something else he didn't seem to be able to prevent. "Coop, that's over," he said, trying his best to nip this quickly.

But even his best authoritative and decisive tone was no match for just not looking at Billy. Christ, if he looked, he'd be lost to those eyes and this thing would blow back on him so damn fast. Truthfully, Don was never able to fully explain the power Billy had over him. His dad must have sensed it too. That was the only reason he could think of why Alan was so concerned about him working with Coop again. But it wasn't like they were partners. Hell, there was no way he'd go back to Fugitive Recovery. Just this one last case… this one last…

"Somehow, you're not convincing me, Donnie boy."

He shivered again as the tip of Billy's tongue traced along the shell of his ear – like ice down Don's spine, melting slowly into each curve and bony protrusion from the heat of Billy's breath. Don pushed back in his seat trying to quell the urge to press the heel of his hand to his erection, because if he did that, then Coop would know. Don gave him a sideways glance. Fuck.

Billy's lips brushed the edge of Don's ear when he spoke. "Yeah, you're hard already, aren't you? You know, I used to love taking your dick in my mouth while it was still a little soft… feel it get harder… never did take long, did it?"

Every square inch of Don's skin hummed, longing for a touch he knew wouldn't come. Jesus, how could one person's voice affect him this way? It wasn't so much the words – though Coop was using all the right ones – as much as the voice itself, the way it could work its way under Don's skin and run along his entire body. It had never mattered what Coop was talking about, just as long as he'd kept talking.

"Go on, Don… touch yourself… I know you want to… you're not gonna get bashful on me now, are you… go on… it's just me… you know I like to watch." There it was – breathless, throaty, drawing out the words more and more. This was turning Coop on.

Don blew out a long breath and with it, a quiet, "fuck me," addressed to no one in particular. He brought his hand to his crotch and pressed against the hard ridge, thinking of how that freckled bottom lip once cradled the head of his cock and the way Coop would let it drag up the shaft.

"That's it… this is your show… this is all for me, baby… just like old times."

Don moved his head, perhaps a nod, hell he didn't even know. He kneaded his cock gently, though gentle was the last thing he wanted. What he really wanted… "Jesus… talk to me, Coop…" Billy was so close, the curve of his smile bristled the tiny hairs inside Don's ear.

"Now… there's my Don. But you can't be comfortable… everything all bunched up inside those three hundred dollar trousers."

All Don could do was suck in a breath and rub harder across the light-weight wool. Billy had turned quiet and that made him squirm.

"You gonna make me do it?" Iron words in a silken glove.

Don quickly unbuckled his belt and opened his fly.

"That's better… now take out the whole package… slowly."

He did as he was asked. The lighting from the warehouse parking lot cast the pale skin in an eerie, ethereal glow. Shifting his vest, Don yanked his shirt up out of the way while Billy helped tuck his tie behind his shoulder.

"God, I've missed this… I want you in my mouth so bad right now… miss the way you taste…. Christ, that—"

"Do it, then… suck me." Don tried to make his own tone demanding, but it took a dangerous turn toward begging as he stroked up the length of his shaft then back, starting a slow, easy rhythm – one to match Coop's voice.

"Ah, now that's real tempting, Donnie boy, but I think I'll pass this time. Much rather watch you jack that dick and shoot all over yourself."

Don closed his eyes and leaned closer to the words, to the sound of them, letting them invade him, curl through him like thick smoke as his hand moved faster and faster. He let his fingers lip up over the ridge to capture the moisture and ease his strokes.

"Damn… do you know what it's like watching you… the way you can't help fucking your hand… gets me hot as hell…" Billy leaned even closer. "…and I'm not even thinking about you shoving that cock up my ass… yet."

A harsh bark of breath escaped as Don snapped his hips forward. The tone of Billy's voice was a black velvet hand at his throat, toying with him. It put him right back inside Billy's apartment that first night. Shit, Coop had seduced him then too: beer, shots and that goddamn voice all around him. They'd been playing footsie with each other for weeks, and even though Don had been confused by the attraction, he'd been helpless against it. Helpless against those eyes and the way Coop could bend and color words to make the most banal statement sound like an orgy on satin sheets.

"You remember that, don't you, Don..." Billy licked across Don's set jaw, drawing his mouth like a magnet, but Billy pulled away before their lips touched.

That's when it started. He could feel it across his scalp and the bottoms of his feet – pricking and tingling – working its way deep in his balls until tiny waves started to spread out from it, forcing his feet into the floorboard to brace himself. He was so damn close. All he needed was just… just a few more…

"…remember that tight heat… nothing shy about the way you fucked me… or the way you jacked me off… just like you're doing now… and how you lost it when I…"

The first shudder painted red and white streaks behind his eyes and lifted his hips from the seat. "Jesus, Coop… fuck!"

Something brushed his thigh. Billy had moved and had his head in Don's lap. Don struggled to get his eyes open; he wanted to see, but there was only that swirled crown of red hair and the barest blush of lips surrounding his still-spurting cock.

With his free hand and what little dexterity he had left, Don grazed his fingers through that hair, trying for a hold, his last spasm bending him forward, catching Coop's scent – strong and masculine – mixing with his own. And, damn, that worked as well as Coop's voice for bringing back memories.

Billy sat back and wiped his mouth with the hem of his shirt, revealing the taut skin of his stomach in the soft light. Everything began to rush back at Don, including those same feelings he'd had before coming home. He hadn't been ready for this… maybe he still wasn't. He thought that even as he fought the urge to pull Coop close and kiss him, to have him whimper and mumble into his mouth like before.

But things weren't like before, and Don wasn't sure if he could let them return to the way they'd been then. He'd missed too much being away, and he was just getting back to connecting. Contented with his life now, with his dad, Charlie.

"Damn good thing you didn't bet, my friend." Billy ran his hand along Don's arm in that comfortable way he'd always had, like touching Don, anywhere, was the most natural thing in the world.

Don turned to him. Just from the look, he knew Billy had something sarcastic on the tip of his tongue, something pithy to say about how easy Don was. But the only thing Billy had for him was a smile, one far too shy for what they'd just done, and that tugged at Don just a bit more than it should have. Billy lifted his hand as if he was going to cup Don's cheek, but he didn't. Facing forward instead, he picked up the binoculars. "Gas station down at the end of the street if you wanna go clean up."

"Yeah, okay," Don mumbled, puzzled but not surprised by the way Coop's voice was back to business, and there was something kind of sad in that. Don wiped his hand on his undershirt before tucking himself in and zipping up. "Be right back," he told Billy as he opened the car door.

"Sure thing, buddy, got'cha covered. Looks like this thing's a dead end tonight anyway."

The thick air swallowed the sound of his heels on the dry, hot pavement as he walked to the station. Whether what just happened would be the last time or the beginning of something else, Don couldn't say.

He swung his head back in the direction of the car. Like always, he'd let that be Coop's move.


End file.
